Maybe "The Wizard of Oz" isn’t such a bad movie

by Rebecca A. Watson on February 16, 2008

in Uncategorized

February 15, 2008 – Friday

I stopped at the Wilderness Pub up 38 to visit some family friends whom we missed on our quick visit to the G Rock. We picked up some Alaskan salmon, chatted for a minute about the weather (here–2 below zero, Alaska–48 above; sick I know), and we headed back to our car and they to their snowmobiles. Seriously, this is where I grew up. Driving back from there I realized there is part of me that misses that. A small part of me.

Can you really go home again? I can’t say that I could if we’re talking about my childhood stomping grounds. Some of my friends say there is no place like home, and I would agree most times. But this is when you have to ask what your definition of home is. I think having family there definitely makes it for me, but there are many whose family aren’t really their parents or relatives. What about something a little less constrained? Home is where you can lay around in your lazy clothes and not care? I kinda like that definition, and I think it would include the good friends that I consider my family.

It’s amazing the way family grows and how ideas of family shift. But what doesn’t change is that you can always go home to where that family is. I can’t thank God enough for that.

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